


Cherokee Healing Lake

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison is dying and Paul has nothing left to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherokee Healing Lake

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Compadres #10 and then in Green Floating Weirdness #19 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Well, I suppose you could always classify this under 'need to know.'"_

 

          _The old man gazed down into the boy's large black eyes that implored him to produce a miracle.  "Paul, come sit," he said kindly, walking over and patting the rough trunk of a felled ash._

_The boy scuffed his way over, reluctant, but climbed up and settled beside the older man.  He straddled the trunk like a pony's back, his dangling small feet kicking in frustrated arcs while he stared belligerently at the frayed holes in the knees of his jeans._

_"Is Toby dead?" the boy demanded._

_"I don't know."_

_"What if he's hurt?" Paul asked, poking at a broken branch that dangled off the trunk.  "He's waiting for us to find 'im."_

_"Have I told you about the Cherokee Healing Lake?"_

_Paul shook his head, refusing to look interested, but his feet stilled and the old man knew he had the boy's attention._

_"Mmm," he said.  "I thought I had, but it's a good day to tell a story…"_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday – 1930**

## November3, 1992

 

          Suzanne walked into the Ft. Bragg hospital waiting room, her gaze seeking out the lone occupant.  The comfortable furniture and subdued colors surprised her.  She found him standing near a corner, leaning against the wall and staring out a large picture window.  She crossed the thick carpet, joining him in the rapidly fading light of dusk.

          "Paul?"

          He turned to face her and she took an immediate step backwards.  He was… different.  Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.  He looked well-rested, his eyes bright and there were no dark circles.  That was a marked improvement over the last time she'd seen him at the Ft. Streeter hospital…   _When was that?_ she wondered.  Two days ago?  Had everything really happened that fast?

          And the usual stress lines around his eyes and mouth were gone, too, she noted.  He was definitely more relaxed, moving more fluidly.

          "Your shoulder," she realized suddenly.  "How is it?"

          "Fine," he replied, quickly turning back to the window.

          He was hiding something.  But what?

          Her examination continued.  In profile he looked… _younger_ , she decided. _Years younger.  But how is that possible after what he's been though?_

          Reaching out, she rested a hand on his arm.  "Paul, why didn't you tell us where you were going?"

          Ironhorse's head dipped.  "There was no time," he explained quietly, the words haunted by the fear of what might have been.  "He was dying.  There was nothing anyone could do.  I thought…"  He trailed off, shaking his head.  "There was one more possibility, but I didn't want to raise anyone's hopes.  It was… impossible."

          "Paul, we've all seen you pull off the impossible often enough to go along with anything you wanted.  You should've known that."

          He shifted his weight enough to meet her eye.  "It was something I had to do alone, Suzanne."

          "Why here?  I mean, where did you take him?" she asked, wanting to hear him explain the legend Debi had told her about.  Was it really possible?  Could something like that still happen in the modern world?

          Ironhorse's lips pressed into a line, telling Suzanne she wasn't getting an answer.

          "Never mind," she said, leaning forward to give him a quick hug.  "I'm just glad you're both okay.  You are okay, aren't you?"

          Ironhorse's cheeks and ears turned a darker shade of red.

          "Paul?"

          He nodded.  "I'm fine, Suzanne."  _Perfectly fine._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday – 0700**

**October 30, 1992**

 

          Harrison followed Major Scott McCoy as closely as he could, wishing for the umpteenth time that Ironhorse was with them.  The Omegan sergeants and the Major knew exactly what they were doing, but he didn't feel quite as safe without Paul watching his back.

          They moved along the weathered wall of a large barn, pausing at the end before crossing to the cover of several smaller equipment sheds.  When they reached the last of the buildings McCoy, Blackwood, and the soldiers stopped.  Across a short space was a hothouse Harrison guessed was as big as a good-sized airplane hanger.  It was constructed out of a simple wooden frame covered with green corrugated plastic sheeting, the roof more of the same green plastic.

          "Doctor, you'll wait here," McCoy said.  "I'll let you know as soon as it's clear."

          "Major, you know it doesn't work that way."

          "Listen to me," Scott snapped.  "I don't have the time, or the manpower, to babysit you.  So you're staying right here until I tell you different or I'll have you escorted back to the Cottage."

          Harrison paused, letting the threat sink in.  McCoy was serious, dead serious.  "Okay," he agreed.

          Scott blinked several times.  "Good.  Stein, Alverez, you're with Blackwood."

          The two soldiers flanked the scientist, the threesome watching as the Major and the rest of the squad moved into the long hothouse.  What the aliens wanted with tropical flowers was anybody's guess, but the soldiers were about to put an end to their plans.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Monday, 0745

 

          Harrison leaned back against a beat-up old pick-up, trying not to fidget.  The soldiers scanned the area, their weapons ready in case of trouble.  An explosion at the far end of the hothouse prompted all three to dive for cover along the side of the equipment shed.  Stein and Alverez immediately came up on their knees, weapons ready, but there was still no one between them and the hothouse.

          "We have contact," McCoy's voice announced over the communication units all three wore.  "Moving in."

          "If they're destroying equipment—"

          "Doctor," Stein interrupted, reaching out to grab Blackwood's arm as he scrambled to his feet.  "You heard the Major.  You stay here."

          "But—"

          " _Here_ ," Stein repeated.

          A second explosion and the low growl of the Omegan's automatic weapons stilled Harrison's argument.  The melee lasted 96 seconds according to his watch.

          "We have the building," McCoy announced over the comm-link.  "Set a perimeter. Clean-up teams, get started.  Bring Dr. Blackwood in the west entrance, we have structural damage and it looks like they've booby-trapped the structure, too."

          "Roger.  West entrance," Stein replied.  "It's clear," he told Harrison.  "But watch your step.  Like you heard, they left some surprises behind."

          "What're we waiting for?" the scientist asked, heading for the hothouse.

          "Doctor," Stein growled, grabbing the man's arm for a second time.  "If you don't mind, we'll escort you in, sir."

          Harrison scowled, but capitulated.

          The threesome entered the devastated structure.  Plants and soil dusted the twisted pieces of corrugated plastic sheets torn off by the explosion.  Sprinklers sputtered here and there, spitting out a fine mist that added to the humidity.  The rich smell of mulch hid the stench of decomposing aliens.

          Harrison carefully picked his way through the debris, searching for clues to the aliens' activity, but found nothing obvious.

          Stepping around a shattered table that had held trays of orchids, he spotted something in a pile of potting soil.  "Sergeant," he called.

          Stavrakos, directing the clear-up effort nearby, broke away to join the scientist.  "Sir?"

          "What do you make of that?" Blackwood asked, pointing.

          The soldier leaned closer, examining several plastic bags floating in the middle of a pool of alien goo.  "Looks like they were collecting samples of the bulbs, doesn't it?"

          "Exactly," Blackwood agreed.  "I wonder why."

          "I have no clue, Doc," Stavrakos admitted. 

          "I want a sample of all the species in here.  Flowers and bulbs."

          Stavrakos straightened, recalculating the time the clean-up was going to take.  "Yes, sir."

          Leaving the sergeant, Harrison wandered further into the building, side-stepping to avoid a shower, compliments of a broken plastic sprinkler pipe.  Bumping into another splintered table, he cursed, then threw himself away from the table when he saw the booby-trap.

          To Harrison's mind, the explosion took place in slow motion.  Wood, dirt, and plants erupted past him in a kaleidoscope of color.  A rainbow shower of flower petals was the last thing he saw before the blackness engulfed him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Paul watched his grandfather from the corner of his eye.  Normally one of the old man's tales would enthrall the boy, but today it couldn't hold his attention.  He wanted to find Toby, and telling stories wasn't going to help._

_The large retriever mix belonged to his grandfather, but Paul considered the dog his, and when he'd failed to greet the six-year-old when he crawled out of bed that morning, the search had started.  It was now nearing lunch while his grandfather droned on, and Paul was getting scared._

_What if a coyote found Toby?  What if Toby tried to tree a bobcat?  What if someone driving through saw him and Toby climbed into their car?  Toby liked everyone._

_"Paul?"_

_"Huh?"_

_His grandfather's eyebrows rose slightly, a signal of amusement.  "I said, do you know where the animals go when they get hurt?"_

_Paul shook his head, his overlong black hair spilling across his forehead and eyes. His mother would make him cut it before he went back to the Oklahoma boarding school, otherwise the nuns would raise a fuss.  But over the North Carolina summer it would grow freely._

_"They find the Healing Lake and they walk out into the water, water so blue it's purple, just sitting there in the mountains.  And the water heals all their wounds."_

_"You think Toby's hurt?" he asked, hoping to get his grandfather back on track._

_The old man stood and brushed off his pants.  "Come over here with me, Paul."_

_The boy slid off the large tree trunk and trailed his grandfather into the tangled brush of the mountainside.  Stopping next to the man, he started at the blood-splattered leaves.  Tangled among the curling leaves and pine needles was Toby's faded green leather collar._

_Paul squatted down and picked it up, the long expired licenses jingling.  "What happened to him?"_

_"I'm not sure," his grandfather said, letting a hand rest on the boy's head.  "Looks like someone thought Toby was a coyote, or maybe a deer, and took a shot at him."  He pointed to the drops of blood on the leaves and the small bullet hole in a tree trunk._

_"He's dead, isn't he?" Paul asked, already feeling the hot tears filling up his eyes._

_"I don't know," his grandfather said.  "He's off lookin' for the lake.  If he finds it, he'll be fine."_

_"But you said the lake is far away.  What if Toby gets lost?  What if he can't find it?"_

_"The lake will call to him."_

_"What if he finds it and gets lost comin' home?"_

_The old man dandled the boy's hair.  "Good question.  I guess the best thing we can do is make sure we call his spirit back."_

_"How do we do that?"_

_The old man steered the boy back toward the cabin.  "The first thing we do is go eat the lunch your grandmother's got waiting for us.  To build up our strength," he added quickly.  "Then we'll go out to that old stump Toby likes to sleep on, and we'll call him."_

_"You mean like we've been callin' his name?"_

_"No," his grandfather explained, reaching down to scoop the boy up and tossing him over his shoulder like a small sack of potatoes.  "We'll call to him in our heads.  No words."_

_"Like talkin' to yourself?"_

_"Just like that."_

_"And Toby'll hear us?"_

_"If he found the lake and healed himself."_

_"What if he couldn't find the lake?"_

_"He'll still hear us, but he won't be able to come home."_

_"Why?"_

_"He'll be chasing squirrels in the spiritland."_

_"But I want him to come home."_

_"I know."_

_"If I call real loud will he hear me better?"_

_"There's no loud or soft.  Just calling."_

_"Oh…"_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday – 1000**

**Fort Streeter**

 

          Ironhorse sat behind his new desk, looking out the large window at the active Army post beyond.  Ft. Streeter was just the next post in a long line for the soldier.  Cars drove past.  Soldiers and dependents walked by.  It was all so familiar, so… _normal_ , he decided.

          Two weeks and it felt like two months.  McCoy had settled in at the Cottage and Omega was working well under his command.  The project members were beginning to come around, and the aliens had stayed quiet.  Maybe it would work out after all.

          He still had a career, even if it was behind a desk.  _At least I'm still in the fight_ , he reminded himself.

          He felt a twinge of jealousy that he'd been so easily replaced, and glanced at the picture sitting on the corner of his desk.  A going away present from Debi – a group shot of the Project members:  Blackwood, Suzanne, Norton, Debi, and Mrs. Pennyworth.

          God, he missed them.  Not that he didn't see and talk to them on a regular basis, but it wasn't the same as living with them.  _Living with a family_ , he conceded.

          He shook his head.  He'd let himself get too involved.  Way too involved. He knew better.  Any of them could be killed or lost, and damn it, he was _supposed_ to be the first.  But knowing that didn't cut the anger or the pain.

          His phone rang and he picked it up, gaze automatically checking for the extension.  "What can I do for you, Norton?"

          "Paul—"  Drake's voice caught.

          Ironhorse leaned forward, his eyes locking on the photo.  Everyone was smiling…  "Norton, what's wrong?"

          "It's Harrison.  He's been… hurt."

          "How?  Where?  I wasn't—"

          "They're on their way to Streeter now – a flight for life chopper.  Derriman and some of the squad are with him."

          "Are they—?"

          "They're fine.  It's for security."

          "I'll meet them at the hospital."

          "I was hoping you would.  It's bad, Colonel, real bad.  I don't think he's going to make it."

          "No, Norton, don't say it.  He'll be fine."

          "Not this time, Paul.  He's—"

          "I've got to go."

          "Suzanne and I'll be there as soon as we can," he said.

          "Where's Scott?" Paul asked.

          "He and the rest of the Squad are on clean-up.  They'll meet us there."

          "I'll see you soon, Norton."

          "Right…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Paul waited until his grandfather settled down at the kitchen table with the evening newspaper before he crawled out his bedroom window and headed into the woods.  He knew Toby was in trouble, and he was going to find him._

_He knew when he'd called and called and called and still Toby hadn't come home that he needed Paul's help._

_When he was away from the cabin, he pulled his flashlight out of the old flour sack he carried.  It was full of everything he would need to find Toby – a flashlight, an old biscuit in case Toby was hungry, the collar, a length of twine to serve as a leash, and a slice of cornbread in case he got hungry._

_Shining the narrow light into the dark, he headed to the north, hoping to find Toby on his way home from the Healing Lake._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday – 1130**

 

          Ironhorse stalked across the Ft. Streeter waiting room, joining Coleman and Goodson.

          "What the hell happened?" he demanded.

          The two soldiers came to attention.  "Sir," Coleman replied.  "We responded to activity at the Thomas Exotic Flower Farm.  The enemy had taken possession of one of the hothouses.  We entered and cleared the building.  They had set booby-traps.  Dr. Blackwood came in once the building was secure to examine the remains and their activity.  He accidentally tripped—"

          "Why was he allowed in before the traps—"

          "I gave the go-ahead."

          Ironhorse turned to glower at McCoy.  "Damn it, Scott, I—"

          "Look, before you go ballistic on me, understand that we had the building secure.  There was structural damage and we warned Dr. Blackwood about the traps.  He wanted to see what they were doing before the whole damned thing came down on top of us."

          Ironhorse sucked in a deep breath, forcing the anger away.  "Okay," he said.  "I'm sorry.  I wasn't there.  Is everyone else okay?"

          "Stavrakos and Matthews took some nasty wood splinters, but they'll be fine," Goodson reported.

          "What exactly's wrong with Blackwood?" Ironhorse asked.

          Goodson's gaze dropped to the carpet.  "He, uh…"

          "Damn it, Goodson, tell me what's going on!" Paul snapped.

          "The explosion caused some severe skull damage."  The medic fell silent as a stranger stepped into the waiting room.

          Ironhorse turned.

          "Colonel Ironhorse?"

          Paul stepped forward, meeting the doctor as he joined the group.  "How is he?"

          "Come with me," the man directed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse settled onto the edge of the chair across from the physician's desk.

          "Colonel, I'm Major Randell, Dr. Blackwood's primary physician."

          "Major, how is he?"

          Randell leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows.  "I'm sorry, but Dr. Blackwood is brain dead."

          "What?" Ironhorse slid back, needing the support the chair offered.

          "The explosion damaged Dr. Blackwood's frontal lobes.  His body's still working, there was no damage to the brainstem, but he's never going to wake up."  Randell stood and stepped around the edge of the desk.  "According to his files, he requested no heroic measures.  We haven't placed him on a respirator."

          "How long?" Ironhorse rasped.

          "I really can't say."

          "And there's nothing you, or anyone, can do?"

          Randell shook his head.

          Ironhorse stood and extended a hand to the doctor, who shook it.  "Thank you."

          "I wish it was better news."

          "Me, too," Paul whispered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday – 1230**

 

          "Ohmygod," Suzanne breathed, her knees going weak.

          Ironhorse wrapped an arm around her shoulders, helping her to sit and wincing as the weight ripped through his shoulder.

          "What do we do?" she asked.

          Norton rolled closer.  "Harrison's always said he wanted to be an organ donor if—"

          "No," Ironhorse snapped.

          Norton glanced up at the colonel.  "Paul—"

          "I said no."  Turning, he stalked out of the waiting room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Paul crouched down in the dark, his back pressed tightly against a tree trunk.  Above him an owl eyed him curiously.  The low whine sounded again._

_The dim flashlight beam flashed over the bushes, teasing out mysterious shadows that tickled the boy's fear.  He scrambled to his feet when he saw the tawny-colored lump._

_"Toby?" he called softly, forcing himself to the lump._

_The dog looked up, his tail thumping a greeting.  Paul dropped down and gave Toby a hug.  "I knew I could find you," he told the lab._

_Toby whined._

_Using the flashlight, Paul checked the dog over, finding the blood and wound where he'd been shot in the side._

_"You haven't found the lake yet," he said.  "You gotta find the Healing Lake, Toby.  Now."_

_Standing, he dug through the sack, taking out the collar and the twine.  Replacing the collar, he tied the twine on the metal D-ring, and tried to lead Toby off, but the dog refused to move._

_"Come on, Toby," he urged._

_The dog whined again, his tail thumping in the dirt._

_Paul sighed heavily.  Reaching into the sack, he took out the old biscuit and the cornbread.  Toby's head came up and he sniffed._

_"Hungry, boy?" he asked, handing the dog the biscuit._

_Toby sniffed the offering, then took it and ate while Paul finished off the cornbread._

_The sack empty, Paul laid the flashlight down and spread the sack on the ground.  With that done, he maneuvered Toby onto the cloth.  Picking up the flashlight, he shoved it under his belt so the light shone on his feet.  He grabbed the corner of the sack and pulled, but couldn't see where he was going well enough._

_He sat down to think._

_Untying the twine from Toby's collar, he tied the ends of the thin rope to the two corners of the sack, then put the twine over his shoulders.  With that done, he stood and tried again.  This time he was able to drag Toby along on the sack, using the flashlight to illuminate his way, and only stopping from time to time to retie the twine._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday – 0800**

 

          Sitting, staring at Harrison as he lay in his hospital bed, Ironhorse made his decision.  Reaching for the phone, he called the flight operations shack.

          "This is Colonel Ironhorse, I need a chopper fueled and ready ASAP."

          "Yes, sir," the flight supervisor said.  "We can have a bird ready for you in ten.  I need a destination."

          "Ft. Bragg.  And I'll be transporting an injured man.  Make sure there's a place for a gurney."

          "Roger that, Colonel."

          Hanging up, Ironhorse dialed the Ft. Streeter Omega barracks.  "Major," Paul said. "I need two medics at the flight line in ten minutes.  Full gear."

          "Yes, sir," the executive officer said.  "They'll be there."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Tuesday – 0830

 

          Suzanne walked into Harrison's room, coming to an abrupt halt when she saw the empty bed.  Spinning, she stormed out, waylaying the first nurse passing down the hall.

          "Where's Dr. Blackwood?" she demanded.

          The nurse looked confused.  "Pardon?"

          "Harrison Blackwood.  The patient in room 112."

          "I'm afraid I don't know.  Check at the nurse's station.  I'm sure they can help you."

          Suzanne reined in her rapidly fraying emotions and headed for the semi-circular counter.  "Where is Dr. Harrison Blackwood?!"

          The middle-aged black woman sitting behind the counter looked up from her work. "Room 112?"

          Suzanne nodded.

          "He was checked out by Colonel Ironhorse about twenty– thirty minutes ago."

          "What?"

          "That's all I know," the woman said, her sour expression telegraphing her opinion of the situation.

          "Thank you," Suzanne said, already turning.  _One of the Omega sergeants will know what's going on._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Tuesday – 0945

 

          "I want an answer, and I want it now," Suzanne growled.

          Stavrakos shifted uncomfortably.  "Ma'am, I'm really sorry, but the Colonel didn't tell us where he was going."

          McCoy joined the pair in the Cottage living room.  "Dr. McCullough," he said, redirecting her ire.

          "Major, I want an explanation!  Where's Harrison?"

          He shook his head.  "I honestly don't know."

          "What _do_ you know?" Norton demanded, rolling in to join them.

          McCoy nodded to Stavrakos and the sergeant beat a hasty retreat.

          Scott gestured for Suzanne to sit, and she did.  Norton rolled up to the couch.  McCoy stood, wondering if he'd escape with his skin intact.

          "This is what I know.  Paul checked Dr. Blackwood out at 0800.  He took Harrison to the flight line—"

          "Flight line?" Suzanne echoed.

          "He had a chopper and two medics on standby.  They took him to Ft. Bragg."

          "North Carolina," Norton confirmed.

          McCoy gave a nod.  "Once he reached the base, he sent the chopper and the medics back to Streeter."

          "So Harrison's in the hospital there?" Suzanne asked.  "Why didn't—?"

          "No," Scott interrupted.  "Paul didn't take Harrison to the hospital.  He took him off the base."

          "Where?"

          "I have no idea," the Major admitted.

          "What can he be doing?" Suzanne asked, not expecting an answer.  "With his shoulder he can't take care of Harrison.  I just don't understand."

          "I don't know what the hell he thinks he's doing."

          "Maybe I can find out," Norton said.  "Gertrude, to work.  If he's there, I'll find him."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday – 0915**

 

          Ironhorse pulled the rented Chinook over, parking alongside the road.  Deep in the Great Smokey mountains, the morning sun filtered through orange and yellow leaves.  Before long the trees would be bare.

          A crisp breeze swept down the empty road, carrying with it the rushing sound of the Oconaluftee headwaters.  Walking to the back of the small recreational truck, he opened the back door and climbed inside.  Blackwood lay on the made up bed.

          Paul took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of his decision.  The chances were slim, hell, they were impossible.

          But there was nothing left to be done.

          Sitting down, he quickly put together the rig he would use to carry Harrison.  By the time he finished, his shoulder throbbed.

          Slipping the rig under Harrison, Ironhorse checked his light field kit, then tugged the scientist up so he sat in the bed.  Sitting down in front of Blackwood, Paul slid the straps over his shoulders, snapping the latch on his chest shut.  With a grunt, he stood, grabbed the field kit, and stepped out of the Chinook.  Closing the door, he headed into the woods.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Wednesday – 1220

 

          "What've you got?" McCoy asked, joining Suzanne and Norton in the basement computer lab.

          "Okay," Norton said, taking a deep breath.  "Paul landed at Ft. Bragg, then took a jeep to Knoxville.  He rented a Chinook there.  That was found abandoned along the road near the headwaters of the Oconaluftee river this morning."

          "Where is that?" Suzanne asked.

          "The middle of nowhere.  Rangers checking some of their remote stations found it."

          "Lucky for us," Scott said.

          "Where are Paul and Harrison?" Suzanne asked.

          "No clue," Norton said.

          "You don't think…" she started, then trailed off.  "I mean—"

          "No," McCoy said.  "Paul's _not_ an alien."

          "What now?" Suzanne asked.

          "I'll take a small group and see if we can't pick his trail.  He's taking Blackwood somewhere."

          "Any clues?" Norton asked.

          Scott shook his head, then ran a hand through his thick dark blond hair. "It has to be a Cherokee thing.  The Qualla reservation's not too far away from there."

          "Like a medicine man?" Norton asked.

          "I don't know.  I'll let you know if we find something."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Toby whined and Paul stopped.  Dawn shone dimly through the trees, casting faint orange-lavender shadows through the forest.  The dog stood on trembling legs and started off into the undergrowth.  The boy followed, his stomach rumbling.  He was tired, thirsty, and hungry.  He was also lost._

_"Toby!"_

_The dog barked, and the boy followed the sound, hoping that Toby knew where he was going._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday – 1230**

 

          The first five minutes were tolerable, then the gnawing ache began in Ironhorse's shoulder, refusing to subside, escalating with each mile into the mountains.  After several hours each step over the rough terrain sent stabs of agony through the Colonel's injured shoulder.

          He gritted his teeth and forced himself on, one foot in front of the other.  Sweat rolled into his eyes, finally forcing him to use a bandanna in order to see.  Harrison rested limply against his back.  Occasionally his bandaged head bumped against the back of Ironhorse's neck, urging him onward despite the almost blinding agony.

 _Hang in there, Harrison_ , he thought.

          Then, catching himself as he started to slip on the loose leaves, Paul strangled back a cry, tears immediately filling his eyes.

          Finding a rock, he squatted so Harrison sat on the rough surface, relieving the pressure on his shoulders.  Ironhorse's hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to lift the straps off his shoulders.  Hunger and thirst demanded attention, but he knew he could neither eat nor drink and still find what he needed.

          He just had to keep going, without food, without drink and without anything for the pain.  There was no other choice.  He had to continue, no matter what.

          In the distance wild ducks called, and he looked up, scanning the skies for the source.  Off to the west he spotted the birds.

          "Okay, Harrison, here we go," he hissed, standing and taking the unconscious man's weight back onto his shoulders.

          Sagging under the weight, Paul shuffled slowly toward the west.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Paul stumbled after Toby, above them, wild ducks circled, quacking down at the pair._

_The boy tripped and fell.  On hand and knees he stared down at the many bear tracks pressed into the dirt.  Scrambling to his feet, he saw the wild ducks and pigeons along the edge of a purple lake.  Frogs sang, and he could hear fish breaking the surface, looking for a morning meal._

_Toby trotted into the water and lay down, disappearing from the neck down.  He panted happily as a duck swam past, ignoring the interloper._

_Stumbling to the edge of the water, Paul stood and clapped.  "Toby.  Come here, Toby."_

_The dog bounded to the boy, jumping up and knocking him down.  Paul giggled as Toby snuffled and licked his face._

_"Toby!" he scolded, but the dog ignored him._

_Giving the dog a hard squeeze, Paul was forced to chase after the lab when he ran back towards the woods, barking._

_"Toby!" Paul called, chasing after the dog for several steps, then he stopped and turned.  The lake was gone, an empty field of grass the only thing left._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Wednesday – 1550

 

          The ducks circled overhead, Paul shuffling forward as best he could.  The sun hung low on the western horizon, the light playing tricks.

          Ironhorse sucked in a rattling breath and fell to his knees.  His head tilting back, he sobbed.  He couldn't go on.  He couldn't even regain his feet.

          He leaned heavily to the side, his hand slipping on a ridge in the dirt.  Blinking back the tears of pain, frustration, and hopelessness, he stared at his fingers.  They rested in the depression of a bear paw…

          His head snapped up.  Several feet away, deep purple water lapped quietly, ducks swimming silently across the still surface.

          "Grandfather," he breathed.  "Please… just a couple… more… steps."

          With a tormented groan he freed the latch, letting Harrison drop back onto the ground.  As fast as his fumbling fingers could manage, Ironhorse removed the web rig from himself and Blackwood.

          Standing, he bent over Harrison, scooping the unconscious man into his arms.  With what little strength he had left, Paul lifted the man, crying out as he did.  Blackwood's heels bumped in the dirt, Paul's bad shoulder unable to support the weight.

          Stepping into the water, Ironhorse was only vaguely aware that it was warm.  The limp body in his arms slipped free of his weak grasp, floating face up just out of reach in the calm, deep purple water.

          The warm liquid surrounded and buoyed Blackwood, which was good, because   as determined as he was to ensure that his friend's face did not slip beneath the smooth surface of the lake, Ironhorse felt himself being pulled down, his knees finally refusing to hold him up.  He felt his face break the surface, eyes closing as he submerged into the darkness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_"Paul!"_

_"Over here, Grandfather!"_

_The old man pushed through the trees, scooping the boy up into a tight hug.  "Where have you been, boy?" the old demanded._

_"Toby," Paul said by way of explanation.  "I found Toby."_

_Hearing his name the lab barked._

_"He was shot."_

_"He was," the old man said, petting the dog's head.  "Looks fine now."_

_"We found the magic lake.  It fixed him."_

_"I see."_

_His grandfather chuckled and Paul gave him a defiant scowl.  "It's true."_

_Eyeing the boy, he considered the child's words.  "Well, then, that's very special.  We better get home."_

_"But the lake," Paul said, pointing back the way he'd come._

_"It'll be there.  Right now, I think grandma's got a stack of hotcakes waiting for us."_

_"I'm hungry," Paul announced, settling down against his grandfather's shoulder._

_Three steps toward home and the boy was asleep._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Wednesday – 2030

 

          "Suzanne," Norton called.

          The microbiologist set her log book aside and hurried out to join Norton.

          He pressed the speaker button.  "Go ahead."

          McCoy's voice filled the basement lab.  "We at the Chinook.  It looks like Ironhorse carried Dr. Blackwood into the woods."

          "Carried?" Suzanne asked.  "But that's impossible.  His shoulder—"

          "Doctor," Scott said.  "He's not going to give a damn about his shoulder."

          "Where's he going?" Norton asked.  "I can't find anything in that area.  No towns, no communities.  Nada."

          "I don't know what he's looking for, but we're going to find out.  I'll call when we have something.  We're going to have to wait for first light before we go after them."

          "Okay," Norton said, disconnecting.

          "I know where he's going."

          The two project members turned.  Suzanne shook her head.  "Debi, I don't—"

          "I do.  He told me about the Cherokee Healing Lake."

          "Healing Lake?" Norton prompted.

          "It's up in the Great Smokey Mountains.  It's a magic lake that heals injured animals."

          "But that's just a story," Suzanne said.

          "No, it's not," Debi argued.  "He found it once when his dog was hurt."

          "He told you that?" Norton asked.

          Debi nodded.  "He's going to try and find it again and heal Harrison."  With that the girl turned and headed back upstairs.

          Suzanne and Norton exchanged glances.  "You don't think he'd really do something like that, do you?" she asked.

          Norton shrugged.  "Given the options we have, yeah.  I mean, you heard the doctor, there was no hope.  Harrison was as good as dead."

          "I guess so…"

          "Look, if it works, great, and if not—"

          "We're right where we were to begin with."

          Another nod.  "So, what do we do?"

          "We wait."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Thursday – 0700

 

          Ironhorse woke first.  Rolling over, he stared out at the empty grass field, shimmering brown and gold in the dawn light.  A frustrated grunt and he rolled back and sat up.

          Harrison struggled to untangle the gauze encasing is head.  "Don't just sit there," he growled at Ironhorse.  "Help me.  And where are we?  What happened?"

          Paul felt the smile tugging painfully at the corner of his mouth.  Standing, he walked over to Blackwood and using the smaller field knife, helped cut the bandage free.  Beneath the curly brown hair lay pressed against the man's head.  He could see no sign of injury.

          "Paul," Harrison said, "where are we?"

          "Uh, North Carolina."

          "North Carolina?"  Harrison twisted to look over his shoulder.  "Why?"

          Ironhorse opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.  Open.  Close.  Open.  He would have to explain it now, wouldn't he…  _Oh, shit_ … _Damn, damn, damn_.

          "Paul!"

          "You were… hurt."

          "Hurt?" Harrison echoed.  The last thing he remembered was… what?  The hothouse.  Going inside.  The bulbs… and…

          "The explosion."

          Paul nodded.

          "But why am I out _here?_ "  He looked around the fall-colored countryside.  It was beautiful.

          "I, uh, brought you."

          "Where's Suzanne?  The Omegans?"

          "Harrison, why don't we just worry about getting back right now, okay?"

          "But I—"

          "Please?" the Colonel implored.  _Grandfather!  I could've left him back there.  Never, never,_ never _is he going to let this rest.  Shit, shit,_ shit!

          "All right," Blackwood conceded, standing.  He stretched, feeling better than he had in recent memory.  A glimmer from the corner of his eye piqued his curiosity.

          He walked over to the edge of the field.  He blinked, an unsettling vertigo washing over him.  He rubbed his eyes.  The effect reminded him of the picture that shifted from a human skull to a woman brushing her hair.  He could swear that if he just looked right, he'd find a lake instead of a field.

          "Paul?"

          "Yes, Doctor?"

          "What is this place?"

          " _Atage'hi_."

          "At—"

          " _Atage'hi_."

          "Atage-hi," Blackwood repeated as best he could.  "What is that?"

          "Cherokee."

          Harrison stalked back to Ironhorse.  "That much I could have guessed.  What's the translation?"

          Ironhorse dug through the field kit, pulling out the condensed meals.  "It means enchanted lake."

          "Lake?"

          "Hungry?"  _Please, be hungry, Harrison.  Starving!_

          Harrison thought a moment, then answered.  "Yes.  Very."

 _Thank you, Grandfather._   "Here," Paul said, handing Harrison a small olive drab plastic bag.  "It's pasta.  No meat."

          "Thanks."

          "We can eat while we walk."

          "Where?" Harrison asked.

          "Back to the car."

          "How far is that?" he inquired as Paul shouldered the field kit and started off.

          "About twenty miles, I'd guess."

          "Twenty?"  Harrison jogged to catch up to his companion.  "Paul, how'd we get all the way out here?"

          "I carried you."

          "You carried—?  Your shoulder!"

          "Is fine."  _Fuckin'-A it_ is _fine._

          "Fine?"

          "Fine."

          "Paul, we have a lot to talk about here."

          "Harrison, it's a beautiful morning, can't we just enjoy it?"

          Blackwood couldn't disagree with the assessment.  "Okay, but I want some answers."

          "Yes, Doctor.  I know."  _Shit, shit, shit…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Thursday – 1500

 

          McCoy signaled the Omegans, the soldiers fading into the trees, where they waited until Harrison and Ironhorse appeared.

          The Colonel stopped, his gaze sweeping over the shadows.

"McCoy?" he called.

          Scott stepped out.  "Paul," he said, checking the hand-held Geiger counter and heat detector.

          The rest of the small unit stepped out as well, their weapons ready.

          "RD is clear," McCoy announced, his gaze not leaving Blackwood.  "Goodson."

          The medic stepped forward, performing a quick blood check on the two men.  "They're fine," he announced a moment later.

          McCoy allowed himself to smile as he stepped forward and gave Ironhorse a quick, but heartfelt hug.  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Chief, can't you tell me what the hell you're planning?"

          "Sorry," Paul replied.  "It was a… last minute decision."

          McCoy snorted and shook his head.  He turned to Blackwood.  "Doctor, you're certainly looking a lot better than the last time I saw you."

          "And how did I look then?" he asked, curious and confused.  "Paul's been extremely close-lipped on the subject."

          "Uh," McCoy hedged, "I think that's need to know, Doctor."

          "Well, I need to know!" Blackwood almost bellowed.

          "Later, Harrison," Ironhorse said.

          "Promise?"

          Paul nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Thursday – 1830

 

          Ironhorse sat stiffly on a gurney in a Ft. Bragg hospital examination room while the doctor checked his shoulder for the third time.

          "Well?" Paul asked.

          "I can't find anything," the captain said.  "As far as I can tell, you're perfectly fine.  In fact, I'd say you're in better shape than the majority of men your age, sir."

          Ironhorse shifted uncomfortably.  "Thank you."

          "I don't understand this.  The records we have here for you list several old injuries – gunshot to the left shoulder, knife stab to—"

          "I'm familiar with the list, Captain," Ironhorse interrupted.

          "There are no signs of any of these injuries, Colonel.  In fact, there's nothing, nothing at all, except a faint scar across your lower back.  I can't explain this, and sure as hell don't understand it."

          "But the shoulder's fine?"

          "The shoulder's fine."

          "Thank you, Doctor," Ironhorse said, pushing himself off the table and grabbing his flannel shirt.

          The doctor shook his head, but left.

          Paul dressed quickly, then headed back to the waiting room to wait for news on Blackwood.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Saturday – 0900**

**The Cottage**

 

          Ironhorse heard Blackwood's approach long before the scientist found him sitting on the beach.  He watched a gull gliding on the breezes blowing off the low waves.  He smiled to himself, thinking about Toby.  The friendly old dog lived as long as his grandfather, and after a few years, their trip to the Healing Lake became nothing more than a vague dream, but it hadn't been a dream.  It had happened, just like the trek with Blackwood had happened.  And this time he had the missing scars to prove it.

          Harrison walked down the beach, taking a seat in the sand next to the Colonel.  "Paul, I think it's time we talked."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He knew he wouldn't be able to escape.  Not this time.

          "So… talk.  Tell me what happened out there."

          "I don't know."

          "Paul…"

          "Harrison, I'm not trying to be vague.  I honestly can't explain what happened."

          Blackwood nodded.  "I talked to Suzanne and Norton.  They explained about the injury."  He reached up, rubbing absently at his forehead.  "When all is said and done, I was dead."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I wouldn't have tried something so…"

          "Desperate?"

          "Close enough."

          "And Debi told me about the healing lake.  That's where you took me, isn't it."

          "Yes."

          "But how did you find it?" Blackwood asked, his excitement and curiosity rising.  "I mean, it's a legend."

          "The legend says the lake lies west of the Oconaluftee headwaters.  That's where I took you."

          "But you had to know where you were going.  I mean, that area is huge!"

          "I prayed," Paul growled.

          Harrison leaned back on his elbows, his head tilting back as he squinted into the blue sky.  "I've always believed in things that everyone else thinks is impossible."

          "Harrison," Paul said, trying to make peace with the events himself.  "This is… special.  It's a matter of faith.  Maybe the doctors were wrong.  Maybe you weren't hurt as badly as they thought you were.  Maybe I really did find a magical lake.  It doesn't really matter.  What does is that you're all right.  The aliens are still here, and we're still at war."

          "Ah, but it does matter, Colonel.  Not only am I all right, you're all right, too."

          Ironhorse grinned.  "This isn't leading to an 'I'm Okay, You're Okay' lecture, is it?"

          Blackwood chuckled.  "No.  But half of your possibilities are bogus, Colonel.  That lake healed you, too, didn't it."

          "It appears so."

          "Come on, Paul," Harrison urged.  "Admit it.  You found a _magical_ healing lake.  A piece of your people's religious past."

          "And what if I did?"

          "I don't know," Harrison admitted.  "That's what I'm trying to find out.  Could you do it again?"

          Ironhorse shook his head.

          "If Debi or Suzanne or Norton was hurt?"

          "Let's not invite trouble, Doctor."

          "But if they were, would you try again?"

          "It depends."

          "So you think you could."

          "I didn't say that!"

          Blackwood sat forward.  "Paul, you're an amazing man, and I for one am glad to have you back."

          Ironhorse frowned and looked away, but Harrison could see his ear had turned a deep crimson.

          "What's really bothering you about all this?" the scientist probed.

          "What makes you think something's bothering me?"

          "Paul, despite what you'd like to believe, there are times you're extraordinarily transparent."

          "Great," the Colonel grumbled under his breath.

          "So, what is it?"

          Paul drew in a long, deep breath, and silently counted to ten.  _Blackwood means well_ , he reminded himself.

          "Paul?"

          "It's the scars," he admitted.

          "Scars?" Harrison echoed.  "I don't understand."

          Ironhorse pushed himself to his feet and stalked off several paces.  He turned to face the astrophysicist.  "Damn it, Harrison, I have medals for some of those scars!"

          Realization began to bloom in Blackwood's mind.  "And now they're gone…  So it's like you haven't earned the medals?"

          "The medals have nothing to do with it, not exactly…  I took _you_ out there.  It was _you_ the lake was supposed to heal, not _me_."

          "Why?"

          "Because!"

          "That didn't answer the question, Paul."

          Ironhorse rested his closed fists on his hips.  "I don't walk that path, Harrison."

          "But you believe, Paul.  Faith is a sacred thing."

          "How the hell am I going to explain this on my next physical?  Tell me that!"

          Harrison started to reply, but realized that he didn't have an answer.  "I— I don't know."

          "Neither do I."

          The scientist smiled.  "That's the real crux of the problem, isn't it."

          "Harrison…"

          "You're embarrassed!  The Lake found you worthy—"

          "I am _not_ embarrassed!  I just don't want to have to explain this to— to— to every damned doctor I see for the rest of my life!  I can't!  I don't have an explanation."

          Harrison stood, and stepped up next to Ironhorse.  Wrapping an arm around the Paul's shoulders, he gave the man an affectionate squeeze.  "Well, I suppose you could always classify this under 'need to know.'"

          "Harrison, they need to know."

          "Oh… I guess you're right."

          "But they're never going to believe me."

          Blackwood's expression brightened.  "Tell them aliens did it!"

          The black eyes narrowed.

          "It was just a suggestion.  It works for me.  Now, why do you think the Lake left that one scar?"

          Paul shook his head.  There was no way he could talk to Harrison about that one.  "I wish I knew," he whispered.  But he knew it was at least in part because he'd made a promise – a promise never to forget.  Anything else, well, only the spirits knew.

          Harrison stopped and faced the soldier.  "Paul, I really don't care.  We're both alive, and we're both healthy, that's all that matters.

          "And we both have a war to win," Ironhorse concluded.

          Harrison nodded.  "Thank you, Paul."

          The soldier nodded, looking away as he said, "It's what a friend is supposed to do."

          Reaching out, Harrison squeezed Ironhorse's shoulder.  "My friend, I think this was above and beyond."

 


End file.
